


Favorites

by Tyellas



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Complicated Dynamics, F/M, Mad Max Secret Santa 2015, Miss Giddy rocks as usual, Taking It For The Team, The Wives with oc Keen the Darkling, This Is Explicit And May Disturb, Vault folklore, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mad Max Secret Santa gift for the author of <i>A Viper in the Garden</i>. One moonlit night in the Vault brings together the Wives' folklore, women looking out for each other, and a harsh encounter with the Immortan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favorites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ahismabitches](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ahismabitches).



> Mad Max Secret Santa gift for ahismabitches, author of [A Viper in the Garden](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4965976%22), featuring her OC Keen the Darkling taking on the Immortan in her own special way. A Vault headcanons mash up of both our MMFR fic universes. Merry new year!

The Vault had its own stories.

Three women clustered around a lantern, listening to an old crone. The Immortan’s Wives, listening to the History Woman’s tales. One of them couldn’t see the lantern’s light: Keen the Darkling wore scars across her blinded white eyes. The lantern pleased her anyway. The burning smell warmed the night air, and the other Vault inmates had clustered close, making it easy for Keen to read their breath and movements.

Miss Giddy was all tense seriousness, sharing in hushed tones what she knew of the Citadel and the Wives who the Immortan sent away. “If Organic doesn’t judge you fit to be turned into human livestock, it depends on the Immortan’s mood, I’m afraid. Either you’re handed over to one of the Imperators, for…more of what you’ve experienced here. Or you’re cast out on the next Treadmill drop, to take your chances with the Wretched.”

Keen picked up that the other two Wives were taking these horrors seriously. On one side of Keen, the Dag was twitching, jerky, sweating with a sour tang. The Immortan had demanded her several times running, and it was wearing her down. On her other side, Angharad was more composed. Her scent was all health and the warm-fur fragrance of her profuse, silken hair. She was sitting still. Miss Giddy’s stories were making her think.

Angharad asked, “Is it true that Wives the Immortan throws away like that can sell themselves to Gastown?”

“Yes, it is. Though only one Wife that I know of has done that.”

The three Wives all shivered together. Angharad and the Dag knew enough about Gastown from Wasteland tells. Keen herself had survived Gastown’s brutal economy and fighting pits. Keen could guess who had bought that Wife. She had been close enough to the vile People Eater to smell his illness, hear his perverse chuckle and the jingle of his notorious chains.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Angharad, with an air of firm decision. “Tell us again about the Wretched.”

Keen muttered in Angharad’s direction. “You don’t have to worry about getting thrown out. You’re the Immortan’s favorite – “

Everyone shushed her. The Dag snapped, “Don’t _say_ it! It’s bad luck to say anyone's his favorite.”

“Why?” Keen snarled, bunching her tight, muscular limbs. She hated the Immortan, all right – hated how he owned them, like things, hated his forcing them, hated what his old, hard, knowing touch did to her. He had punished her savagely for the least defiance. He definitely had a favorite, and he handled her with care.

Miss Giddy replied, softly, “It’s only a superstition. Magical thinking. It doesn’t help to dwell on it.”

The Dag hissed. Keen felt the Dag’s fingers on her own arm, bony and clammy. “No, it’s not. It’s angst and atrocities. Bad bloody miscarriages, all the time. Or they can see the ghosts here. Worst is when their sanity says goodbye…” She trailed off.

This was uncanny. Keen couldn’t see the ghosts, but she already heard them. And she and Angharad – Angharad who, pointedly, wasn’t saying a word - had both suffered horribly for the Immortan’s stillborns. Keen shook the Dag’s hand away. “What if you did have the boy he wants?”

Miss Giddy sighed. “Now, that would be the worst luck of all. He’d never let you go, then.”

They all turned as the Vault door hissed. Its seal was breaking as it opened. At this hour, it could only be their owner: the Immortan, intent on taking his pleasure from one of them. Keen felt herself go tense. “Smeg. What’s he doing here now?”

“I thought he would,” the Dag whispered.

A man’s voice coughed, then boomed into the room. Keen’s pointed teeth went on edge. “Awake at this hour! What are you up to there?”

“Telling ghost stories,” Miss Giddy said, coldly. “Secret women’s business.”

Keen heard the Immortan suck in his breath, the weak rasp of it, before his laugh, rich and amused. “You do look frightened. Don’t let the History Woman scare you. Daddy’s here.”

“Stories don’t scare me,” Keen gritted.

Keen heard him walk over, and the soft scurry of Miss Giddy sliding back. She felt the other women’s stillness, then the Immortan’s body heat and half-stink, half-musk, radiating two handspans from her face. His cotton draperies brushed her. “No, Keen, never you.” The air swam with tension. “Now you, my Dag – you look terrified. Fear and moonlight suit you.”

As he turned towards the Dag, the Immortan’s hand moved the air near Keen’s ear. The Dag, with her uncanny edge, her seeking, frightened grasp, what she’d already endured –

Keen arced up and nipped the Immortan’s fingers. Where his calluses came from, she had no idea. The bastard didn’t labor like his thousand slaves. One of those hands twined in Keen’s thick braids, pulled her from sitting to kneeling. His rasping breathing quickened as he growled, “Ha! My bitch has a bite tonight. Up for it, are you?”

No. But Keen felt her fighter’s instincts telling her the Dag was up for it even less. “Bring it,” Keen replied, rocking back on her haunches, giving her knees a wicked spread.

He yanked Keen to standing, shoved her in the direction of his favorite bed. “Giddy, tell the guards to close up.”

When they were close, the Immortan threw off the count of Keen’s steps by giving her a shove, then pulling on her soft cotton wraps. She grabbed the fabric and pulled back. He was in the mood for a fight as well as a fuck. She’d give it to him, all right. They half-sparred around the room. Twice, Keen trembled on the angry edge of seriously taking him out. The risk if she failed was too great.

By the time he had her on the bed, the Immortan was improbably hard. Keen rolled away. “You’re revving up fast, old man. Who’d you kill?” She cursed her own magical thinking, that she could keep him from the others tonight. This was going to be a lot of work.

The Immortan almost roared with mirth. “Nobody yet! It’s a full moon tonight. You can’t see it, but you feel it, Darkling. I can tell.” He plunged fingers between her legs. “You’re in heat, wild thing. Feral bitch.” She arced, feeling her body clench around him. The bastard hadn’t manhandled women for years for nothing. His fingers pulsed against the roof of her, inside, and she writhed against her will, feeling her cunt swell and slicken. “Not ripe tonight. I know. Next time, though – next time –”He thrust the flat of his hand against her, to emphasize. “Tonight, I get you ready.” When he jerked his hand out, her hips followed, before she could stop herself.

Then, he was on her, crushing the breath out of her. Flattening her with his bluntness. His long, coarse hair draped down to scourge her as he thrust. Teeth sharp, she stiffened to keep air in her lungs. Her tightness rolled through her loins, clenching her tight around his intruding cock. The Immortan gasped, almost choking, and she clenched harder, squeezing like a viper, vibrating with tension. She felt him flex himself from his sweating shoulders before slamming her down against the bed, fighting body to body. He rammed into her with all his strength before he shot, growling like a flooded engine.

There wasn’t a second round in him after that. There couldn’t be. Filthy with her success, Keen hated him all the more. The emotion rippled in her, twisting her adrenaline and unwanted pleasure into a cable of strength. She made herself remember the Dag’s edginess, Angarhad’s courage, Miss Giddy’s forbidden advice and warnings. Her own plan for freedom.

She felt his hand cross her forehead. If he could be almost tender, the others were probably safe. “Such a glare, my Darkling. What are you thinking?

“That I hope you’re not doing the rounds,” she spat, curling in on herself.

The Immortan laughed again, low and intimate. Just for her. “Jealous?” He chucked her under the chin, as if she was a child. “Don’t be. You’re nicely tamed. Fit to satisfy a man. I might have a new favorite, now.” She heard his steps thunk away, heavy with satisfaction. Keen stayed rolled in a ball until she heard the Vault door’s distant re-seal. Then, she could breathe.

Keen searched inside herself for the steel she’d felt earlier, while Miss Giddy told her stories. She was surviving. She was deceiving the Immortan, successfully. These were steps forwards. They had to be.

It still took many minutes to unknot herself, and feel her way out of the musky private room. When she emerged, the Vault’s main chamber felt unoccupied. There was only silence. The lantern’s warm smell was gone, leaving only a trace of cold smoke in the air. It was lonely, but a relief, a moment to breathe. She could hold on to the hope that the others hadn’t heard what the Immortan had said.

Then, she caught a shuffle. “Who is it? Don’t mess with me,” Keen snapped.

“It’s me. Do you want to wash?” The Dag.

Keen grunted denial. “It can wait. You don’t have the lantern any more.” She didn’t want anyone touching her.

“It’s full of moonlight in here. Almost like the daytime.”

Keen scowled, remembering the Immortan’s words. “No.”

A moment’s silence arced.

The Dag half-whispered into the night. “You’ll never be his favorite. I’m saying it now. So that you’ll stay lucky.”

“Magical thinking,” Keen said.

The Dag actually laughed, and Keen found herself joining in. The Dag added, “Thank you for what you did tonight. I’ll do that for you next time.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t need it.”

“I’ll do it for another Wife, then. The time will come.” With that, the Dag was gone, her feet the barest whisper.

Keen was left standing, stained and exhausted, in the moonlight she couldn’t see. She remembered it, from her sighted days: the Wasteland's contaminated sands made pure and beautiful beneath cold whiteness. Like the Dag’s words tonight, strangely bright with promise.

 


End file.
